Out of the Darkness

He pointed to Saxburh, asleep in the harness. “That’ll be Ealstan’s baby, won’t it?”

“That’s right,” Vanai answered.

“How’s he doing?” asked Ethelhelm who was now Guthfrith-just as, in some ways, Vanai was, or could become, Thelberge.

She’d told the truth once without intending to. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Ethelhelm didn’t need to know Ealstan was far away, dragged off into the Unkerlanter army. “He’s fine,” Vanai said firmly. “He’s just fine.” Powers above make it so. Powers above keep it so.

“Glad to hear it,” Ethelhelm said, and sounded as if he meant it. But he and Ealstan hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Ealstan was one who thought he’d gone too far down the ley line the Algarvians had given him. I can’t trust this fellow, Vanai thought. I don’t dare.

A man said, “You going to gab all day, buddy, or can you play, too?”

“Right.” Ethelhelm’s Guthfrith-smile was meant to be engaging but looked a little tight. He nodded to the other musicians. They swung into a quickstep that had been popular since the reign of King Plegmund-not the one, though, that was known as “King Plegmund’s Quickstep.” What with the Algarvian-created Plegmund’s Brigade, “King Plegmund’s Quickstep” seemed likely to go into eclipse for a while.

Vanai thought it a good time for her to go into eclipse, too. She made her way out of the market square. As she went, she imagined she felt Ethelhelm’s eyes on her back, though she didn’t turn around to see if he was really watching her. One other thing she didn’t do: she didn’t leave the square by the way out leading most directly to her block of flats. That meant her arms were very tired by the time she got home, but it also meant Ethelhelm didn’t find out in which direction she lived.

She wasn’t sure that mattered. She hoped it didn’t. But she didn’t want to take chances, either. She ruffled Saxburh’s fine, dark hair as she took her out of the harness. “No, I don’t want to take chances,” she said. “I’ve got more than just me to worry about.”

Saxburh whimpered. She’d emerged from her nap crabby. Sure enough, she was wet. Changing her didn’t take long. Changing her any one time didn’t take long. Doing it half a dozen times a day and more. .

“But everything’s going to be all right. Everything will be just fine,” Vanai said. If she said it often enough, it might come true.

“So this is Algarve,” Ceorl said as the men of Plegmund’s Brigade trudged into a farming village. He spat. The city wind that blew at his back, out of the west, carried the spittle a long way. “I thought Algarve was supposed to be rich. This doesn’t look so fornicating fancy to me.”

It didn’t look so fancy to Sidroc, either. But he answered, “Algarve’s just a place. Gromheort’s right on our side of the border from it. You can see it from there. It doesn’t look any different than Forthweg.”

“You’re a corporal now. You must know everything,” Ceorl said.

“I know I’m a corporal, by the powers above,” Sidroc said. Ceorl made a face at him. He ignored it. “I know this is a cursed miserable place, too. The part of Algarve you can see from Gromheort is a lot better country.”

Down here in the south, the land was flat and damp, sometimes marshy. But some of the marshes froze in the winter. Unkerlanter behemoths had broken through a couple of places where the redheads hadn’t thought they could go. And the men of Plegmund’s Brigade had other things to worry about, too.

“If those whoresons in this village start blazing at us on account of they think we’re Swemmel’s buggers, I say we treat ‘em just like we did the Yaninans who blazed Sergeant Werferth,” Ceorl growled.

They’d already drawn a couple of blazes from panicky redheads. The Algarvians saw swarthy men in tunics and didn’t stop to find out which swarthy men they were or whose side they were on. So far, the troopers of Plegmund’s Brigade hadn’t answered with massacre. “Looks like they’re just running here,” Sidroc said.

Sure enough, Algarvians-mostly women and children, with a few old men- fled the village on foot, on horseback, and in whatever carriages and wagons they could lay their hands on. Some of the redheads on foot carried bundles heavier than a soldier’s pack. Others pulled light carts as if they were beasts of burden themselves. Still others took nothing at all with them, abandoning homes without a backward glance and relying on luck to keep them fed so long as they could escape the Unkerlanters.

“We’re going to stand here,” Lieutenant Puliano said, commanding the Forthwegians with as much aplomb as if he were a marshal. “I’ll need two or three groups forward-that house there, that stand of trees, and that tumbledown barn. You know the drill. Let Swemmel’s buggers come past you, then hit ‘em from the sides and from behind. Questions? All right, then. .”